Hetero Sex Stories


Oh! Fuck this, thought Rambo. Rain was hitting him like miniature scythes, bouncing off of his head and back, running into his eyes, dripping of his black and white coat, matting his fur into sodden strands that looked like a Rastafarian hair do. A cold wind kept blasting him from any directions it felt like and it was as much as he could do to keep from shivering to bits. The weather wasn't the worst of his problems though. The flock of belligerent, bastard sheep that were as pissed off with the rain and cold as Rambo was, just would not do anything he tried to lead them into. A limited vocabulary of understanding, after a fashion, can be established between a sheep dog and his charges.


It took Jon nearly a year to arrange it, but now his careful planning and meticulous timing was coming into fruition. Having past the wrought iron gates and driven down the gravel drive with tufts of grass growing through it, the end game was now in full swing, like a run away juggernaut, it was unstoppable. He could picture when it all started, the re-run going through his minds eye as he drove towards destiny. It seemed that it had been one of those days; one of those occasional days, when anything and everything that could go wrong, would go very wrong. The car had stopped for some inexplicable reason, probably electrical.

Role play

Occasionally, just occasionally, role play in the bedroom takes on a whole new intensity and, instead of role playing; the person becomes the role and is taken to another dimension. Occasionally, what starts out as a fantasy, stitched into a session of sex, soon becomes a situation, where anything becomes possible. Where inhibitions are left behind and the participants are removed from the real world of stresses and strife to a place, totally overtaken by the acts of present and future, lust and promise of fulfillment. The following is one such event; where the players become the played and all plans become secondary to the unfolding events, where the scene is the lasting real part of a fiction.

Sal's lover

Sal's love. Brrrrb. Brrrrrb. Sal picked up the wall phone on the second ring and tucked it under her chin. "Hello." Her hands were covered in flour and a stray lock of hair got pushed back with her wrist. "I know what you did last summer." The heavily disguised voice announced through the earpiece. "Josh! Hi how are you? Where are you?" Her pleasure at hearing his voice was evident in the immediate flush to her cheeks and breathlessness he always caused. "Hi-ya Sal; I'm downtown and around for a few days; Just wondered if you fancied a meet sometime over the next day or two. I still know what you did last summer though." He laughed in his easy manner; oblivious of the effect he had on her.

A Street Party to Remember

My name is Louisa and i am a happily married woman who enjoys having the occasional affair and extra marital sex with my husband's full consent. I have a good figure for my age as i am over forty; i have pert 36B breasts, a lean 5 foot 7"figure, firm legs and bum. I work out regularly at the gym three times a week. My usual type of guy is young and fit, someone that is looking for a good time and no strings. I do limit myself to one or two sessions a month and enjoy relaying them to my husband whilst making love to him. It's been a while since i put pen to paper about my sex life, but i felt what happened the other day was worth writing about.

Suzanne's lesson

"What is it this time Suzanne?""I was caught smoking in the toilets, Sir." She stood in front of his desk, one hip thrust forward, deliberately provocatively. Mr. French sighed in resignation of an on-going and unfathomable problem. It seemed that he and this particular young lady were having these chastisement meetings rather more frequently than he would like. "Adopt the position."Suzanne was a problem, a constant problem. At Saint Agnes School for girls, she was the misfit. Her teen head carried knowledge that was, by far, much too knowing for her years.

The lesson

God! But she was beautiful in those days. Not that Jenni is any less beautiful now, but she was unbelievably stunning back then. Since though, time and the bearing and rearing of children have taken their toll. Jenni still is a very good looking woman, a little thicker than she would like, but all in all, very pretty for a fifty something year old woman. Her beauty goes further than the depth of her skin. Jenni is one of those people who is just naturally lovely, without a mean bone in her and very few times has an unkind thought for anyone. Her integrity is beyond question, her faithfulness is unusual in the singular way it rules her life. It makes her popular and sought after as a friend.

The office

Before you read this, it isn't a stroke story as such. A story with sex in it yes, but not a quick fire wham bam. I thought it best to let you know. The players:Stella was a bitch, pure and simple, a statement of irrefutable fact. Somehow, in her twelve years working at the small Accountancy practice, she had charmed, or perhaps bullied the senior partner into making her the Office Manager. She was the archetype of the Office Manageress. Quite tall, at around six foot, as slender as a rake handle, with hair pulled savagely back into a bun at the back of her head that you would swear was pulling her face out of shape and taking out the wrinkles.

Perfect slave

The perfect SlaveDenise really was the perfect slave. The level of submission and compliance was far beyond that of any I had experienced before and I have been training slaves for a long time. The golden rule is establishing a safe word at the very beginning. It can be anything that wouldn't be used in the context of sex so a word like "apricot" is good. Denise had never used her word even though I had taken her to extremes of torment. Never once had she complained when my whip slashed at her skin, raising deep red welts across her tits and buttocks. Using a speculum on her hadn't fazed her at all.

The stray

The first time I saw the stray was as I left home for work. He was curled up against the privet hedge, sleeping, just inside my front garden. He looked up as the garden gate squeaked, but showed little interest in me. He passed from mildly interesting to completely forgotten in the time it took to reach my car. The next time I saw the stray, he was laying full stretch in front of the fire in my living room. Jill had obviously met him and, Jill being Jill, had brought him in, probably fed him, mothered him and become his best friend, all in a day. The dog looked up, mildly curious at who was entering the room, but returned his nose to his paws and contented sleep.